


The Death of Atlas

by orphan_account



Series: Weapons of Edom [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec Needs To Use His Words, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Domestic Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Don't fuck with Alec's boyfriend, Edom Angst (Shadowhunter Chronicles), F/M, Healing, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Hurt Jace Wayland, Hurt Magnus Bane, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magnus's Magic, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Siblings, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-27 09:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Magnus has magic again, and Clary's back from the dead.With a war brewing in the Downworld and enemies banging on the gate from Alicante, Alec's got enough to worry about without thinking about what happened with Jace and the Orb of Edom.And if he sometimes catches a glimpse of Hellfire in Magnus's eyes... that's just Alec's paranoia at play, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This really won't make a huge amount of sense if you've not read the previous story, but if you feel like being adventurous, go right ahead! 
> 
> Another title for this one could be Alec Learns to Use His Words. It's the first time I've written anything from Alec's POV and I've gotta say it's a lot of fun writing someone who compartmentalizes as well as Alec does. 
> 
> This story picks up roughly a month after the last one ended, meaning Clary is back, Jonathan is a dick, and pretty much everyone is on the verge of starting another apocalypse.

Alec’s never wanted to jump out his office window and run away quite as much as he does today. Underhill, in a gesture of sympathy for Alec’s growing headache, has taken it upon himself to run the whole Institute through the new security drills he and Jace have been working on, so the number of people available to harass Alec has been greatly reduced. Still, he’s four Clave meetings into the day, and if the week’s trend continues, there’s going to be some kind of disaster that requires his attention, and that means no movie night with Magnus.

An evening of cuddling on the couch with his boyfriend is something Alec is giving serious consideration to killing for.

In fact, the next person who comes into his office needing help because they’ve accidentally triggered an apocalypse is going to get handed over to the initiates for target practice.

Three. That’s how many times someone’s nearly ended the world this week. Three. And it’s still only Wednesday.

And that’s without taking the whole Jonathan drama into consideration. Alec’s already had to field calls from the Pangborns, the Blackthorns, and the Penhallows, and if he has to see Jia again this century it’ll be too soon. Right now he has the political clout to hold them at bay, but it’s not going to last forever. They need to deal with him, and soon.

There’s a soft, tentative rap on his doorframe. Alec doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. Of all the difficult conversations he’s had today, this one is inevitably going to be the worst.

“Clary,” he looks up from the latest report to be signed off on and tries not to appear as monumentally tired as he feels. “You okay?”

He and Clary are never going to be best friends, but Alec respects her, and he’ll never be able to repay her for saving Jace’s life. More than that, though, he recognizes the place she holds in his brother’s heart, and for that alone, Alec’s willing to go to war with Alicante in her defense.

She’s grown into a remarkable woman, and a Shadowhunter he both trusts and is proud to call one of his own. And she’s kind. Her wry smile is knowing and sympathetic. “Rough day?”

A year ago, he’d’ve told her to mind her own business. Today, he allows himself to grimace and knows she won’t push when he doesn’t answer. It’s a good opportunity to roll out some of the aches in his shoulders and he grimaces when muscles pull uncomfortably. Forget going home, he should probably hit the training room and stretch. “What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you?” She sounds hesitant, wary of him the way she used to be. Alec quickly nods, and tries to hide his worry when she closes his office door. One of those kinds of conversations, then.

Circling from behind his desk, Alec takes a seat on the couch and encourages her to sit down. She sits almost too quickly, then bounces her knee nervously. Alec says nothing. He’s got a sister, he’s got two brothers. He knows how to wait someone out until they’re ready to talk.

Someone knocks on the door and opens it before he has a chance to respond. It’s one of the younger Shadowhunters, who goes beet red when he realizes what he’s done.

“Out!” Alec barks, making Clary give a little huff of laughter when the door slams closed.

“What if it’s an emergency?” She asks.

Alec rolls his eyes. “Everything’s a damn emergency these days. It can wait.”

Clary nods and looks down at her hands, and Alec has to fight the urge to wrap an arm around her. He knows what happened at the skating rink. He knows what Jonathan did while wearing Jace’s face. Or at least, he knows what he’s been told. There might be more to the story.

That’s where he expects her to go when she finally talks, not, “It’s about Jace.”

Alec’s heart sinks. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with her return from the dead and the revelation of the link she shares with Jonathan. Throw in the hunt for the Morningstar Sword, and there hasn’t been a spare second to even think about what happened with the Orb of Edom, let alone start to process it. As far as Alec can tell, he and Jace have agreed to table the whole issue indefinitely, locking it away in a box until they can deal with it. There are more pressing concerns.

They can stand to be in each other’s company now. They can even have a conversation, so long as they’re talking about work. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do. It’ll have to do.

“What about him?”

Clary looks at him desperately, her big eyes glassy and wide with worry. “I know something happened while I was gone. And I know he can be… difficult, when he’s upset, but whatever he did, Alec, he’s sorry. Really sorry. He misses you.”

Alec recoils, blinking rapidly. _What the hell?_

“Jace hasn’t done anything wrong, Clary.”

_I miss him too_ , Alec thinks helplessly.

“Then why are you avoiding him?”

“I’m not!” They had breakfast at the same table just this morning. “It’s -“ a mess? A nightmare? “complicated.”

Clary reaches out a tentative hand and touches the back of Alec’s own. Her hands are tiny, and the compassion in her eyes is breathtaking. She looks so sad for him, so worried, and that she feels the need to come here and try to plead Jace’s case says everything about how much she loves him.

The earth shifts in the back of Alec’s mind, and from a place deeply buried, a memory crawls into his consciousness. Clary, her eyes full of hatred, her voice dripping with disgust. Murderer, she called him. That might’ve been a spell, but what will she think of him when she realizes what Alec has done? He killed her mother, and he—

Shuddering, he tries desperately to push the echoing accusation of her voice away.

“You can tell me, Alec,” she says gently. “It might help you to talk about it?”

Alec swallows. “Is… is Jace…?”

Her snort is more affectionately frustrated than annoyed. “Jace doesn’t talk about the things that matter, not when they still hurt him.”

Doesn’t Alec know that? He’s the one always sent in to beat some sense into his dumb little brother. Who’s going to do that if Alec can’t?

He takes hold of her hand and gently removes it from his own. “Thank you, Clary, really. But this isn’t… it’s not my place to share this with you.” He can’t take that from Jace as well.

She’s already nodding. “I figured. I just wanted to check on you as well. I know how bad you both hurt when there’s a wedge between you.”

Alec lets himself flash her a half smile. “Careful Fray, keep this up and I might start to like you.”

Sensing she’s not going to get any further with him, Clary presses her hand to her heart. “And let people know you’re secretly soft and fuzzy inside? The horror!”

Alec snorts and follows Clary to her feet as she stands. “Shadowhunters aren’t fuzzy!” he protests, then undermines himself by carefully touching her arm, drawing her up short when she turns to leave. “You know I’m always here. If you need anything.” She nods, and in the warmth of her gaze, Alec sees exactly why she’s so good for his brother. He squares his shoulders and gives her his most deadpan expression. “Now back to work.”

She leaves with a soft ring of laughter and Alec throws protocol and duty out the window. He’s been at it for fifteen hours now. He wants to go home.

If the world wants to end, it’ll have to wait until the morning.

 

* * *

  
Magnus’s hand is the perfect combination of warm skin and cool rings against Alec’s cheek. He’s been drifting, far more interested in using Magnus as a pillow than he is in whatever film he’s supposed to be enjoying.

“You know, our bed is far more comfortable,” Magnus says fondly. The volume on the television drops lower and Alec, his eyes already closed, hums in satisfaction.

“You’re comfy,” he says.

“And to think you have a reputation for being so prickly,” Magnus chuckles, stroking Alec's hair, “oh, if the Clave only knew how soft and cuddly you really are.”

“They’d probably have me executed,” Alec says wryly. “And I’m not cuddly.”

Magnus makes a point of tucking the edge of their favorite blanket down over Alec’s arm. “Of course not, darling.”

“Shadowhunters aren’t cuddly.” Or soft, for that matter. Or fuzzy. Magnus is laughing at him now, his chest rumbling beneath Alec’s head. “Oh shut up.” He huffs, and shuffles to make himself more comfortable, wincing when his shoulders send up a flare of protest.

Magnus is suddenly moving beneath him, easing Alec upright and off the couch, ignoring his whine of protest. “You’ve overdone it again,” he scolds.

“Just been at a desk for too long,” Alec protests. “I’ll be fine when I’ve stretched out.” 

Magnus doesn’t look convinced, and he stopped believing Alec's 'I'm fine' protests months ago. “Bedroom. Go on.”

Inside their bedroom, Alec raises his arms to let Magnus remove his shirt, then hesitates. They’ve not done anything more than this since…since the thing. Magnus hasn’t given any indication that he wants to, and frankly, Alec’s too relieved that he’s still okay with their ritual cuddles and soft kisses. He’d not blame Magnus at all for not wanting more with him after what happened. And, in truth, Alec doesn’t want more, either. He just wants Magnus.

If Magnus wants more tonight, Alec’ll throw himself on a sword to give it to him, but the conversation with Clary has shaken him more than he’s willing to admit. The idea of taking this any further makes his skin crawl, and if he doesn’t hate himself for that-

“No, Alec,” Magnus says softly, his hands moving to cup Alec’s cheeks. “That’s not what this is.”

“Okay,” Alec says immediately, even though he’s not sure what this _is_ if not that.

Still holding him like something precious, Magnus’s eyes are impossibly soft in the gentle warmth of their bedroom. “The knots in your back are like rocks. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”

“Oh,” Alec says, worry cleansed away with the soothing wash of Magnus’s voice over his frayed nerves. “Oh. A massage. I like those.”

Magnus grins. “I’m very good with my hands.” It’s a flirtatious comment, the likes of which he’s made throughout the entirety of their relationship, but Alec trusts him, heart and soul. “You don’t mind?”

“I mean, I could just let my boyfriend slowly calcify into one of those ghastly stone angels you have laying around the Institute,” Magnus says, “or I could help him relax after what I hear was a particularly trying day at the office.”

Alec can’t help the lovesick, hopeless smile that comes to his face. “I like plan B,” he says, leaning in to press a delicate kiss to the edge of Magnus’s answering smile.

“Thought you might. Now, do you want to get out of those jeans, or?”

Alec’s already scrambling with his belt. They’ve done this before: Magnus is as good at massages as he is at literally everything else he does, which is to say he’s a fucking miracle worker. In the past, it’s always ended with Alec a boneless puddle on the bed, and with Magnus moving slowly between his legs, reworking Alec from the tangled mess he started as to something start bright and weightless.

A part of him wants that. A part of him hopes that Magnus does, too.

A larger part trembles, cowering in a dark corner of his mind, pathetic and afraid.

He leaves his boxers on, and crawls into bed. Magic pulls the sheets back and folds them neatly over onto Magnus’s side of the bed. Alec lays his head down onto his pillow and almost immediately starts to relax. This is his sanctuary. This is where he belongs.

The bed dips and Alec sighs as Magnus throws a leg over his and settles himself down. He’s sitting higher than he usually would, resting more against Alec’s ass than his thighs, and somehow that feels better. Safer.

“Not that I’d ever turn down an excuse to get my hands on you,” Magnus says, a soft clink of metal settling against the side table as he removes his rings, “but I’m going to have to send a strongly worded letter to Alicante if they keep sending you home to me like this. How’re we ever going to get through a hundred years of cinema if you can’t keep your eyes open?”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your complaints,” Alec mumbles into the pillow.

Magnus laughs. There’s a wet sound of oil pouring onto his hands, and Alec knows it will be magic warm by the time it touches his skin.

It’s actually hotter than he remembers, hot enough to take him by surprise and force him to smother a groan into silk pillowcases.

Magnus has no right to be as good at this as he is. He knows exactly where each and every pain is located, his long, nimble fingers targeting knots with careful precision. The pressure is always just right, and as always, Alec is completely helpless in the face of his perfection.

The next sound he makes is more of a whimper, pain racing through his shoulder as Magnus’s thumb slowly works out a particularly vicious knot Alec that likes to call ‘you dicks better not make Christopher Greenbeck Inquisitor’.

Magnus tuts under his breath and a sudden wave of magic washes over him, sinking into muscle and bone. It’s the first time Magnus’s new power has touched him in anything more than a superficial way, and almost immediately, the wrongness of it makes Alec tense beneath Magnus’s hands.

Thinking he’s pressed too hard against a knot, Magnus makes a soothing sound above him. “I’m sorry, darling, too much?”

Alec’s first instinct is to nod. It is too much. Magnus’s magic is too much.

He can’t say that. He’d rather cut out his own tongue. Magnus’s magic is everything to him. It’s the one positive to come out of every awful thing that’s happened with the orb. He’d be heartbroken if he thought Alec couldn’t accept it.

Alec shakes his head and presses firmer into the pillow. “Just sore. It’s okay.”

No doubt thinking he’s sparing Alec extra pain, Magnus eases the pressure with his hands and pours more magic into Alec’s body.

It’s nothing like the magic Magnus used to have. The whisps of it are red, not blue, but beyond that superficial difference, it feels, at its core, wrong in a way Magnus has never felt wrong. Alec knows Magnus’s shame at his father, the blood that runs through him and the power that used to go hand in hand, but there was never anything demonic or dark about Magnus’s magic. It was bright and beautiful and warm, just like its user.

This doesn’t feel like Magnus. It feels like the orb. It feels like Lilith.

“Better?” Magnus asks, moving slowly across Alec’s shoulders.

_No_ , he thinks. “Yes,” he says.

There’s none of the orb’s crippling pain. Just the sick, uncomfortable feeling of something slimy oozing under his skin, coating him like tar. That’s probably more his own ridiculous hangups than anything to do with Magnus.

Alec’s a soldier. He can endure pain, so really, how hard can it be to endure this?

Magnus has magic back. He’s done a good job of hiding how lost and hopeless he felt without it, but Alec can see the joy and wonder in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking. Alec refuses to be the one to poison that happiness.

Magnus is as dedicated and thorough to this task as he is every other. He’s always given himself over one hundred percent to the physical side of their relationship, and this is no different. He moves, slowly and methodically, across bare skin, the oil still hot and tingling and his magic pulsing, slow and steady like a heartbeat.

Alec switches his brain off. It’s a trick from a childhood spent running drills and standing at attention, waiting for orders. He’s perfectly capable of relying on muscle memory for everything from making coffee to a full physical workout. There’s even less to do here, so it’s easy to let himself drift away, and it has the added benefit of leaving his body totally in Magnus’s hands. Without Alec’s brain running a hundred miles an hour, his body can relax, and it does.

When Magnus finishes, Alec’s still gone. He’s aware, vaguely, of the oil being wiped away and blessed coolness washing over tender skin, and likewise aware of the sheets settling over him, tucked up to his shoulders. Magnus kisses the top of his head and moves quietly around the bedroom, his usual routine back to lightning fast speed as magic eases the workload.

When he settles into bed, he touches Alec’s cheek softly, something he often does when he thinks Alec is sleeping, and when Alec is too close to oblivion to respond.

The lights go out, and after a while, Magnus’s breathing deepens into sleep.

Alec finally turns his face from the pillows and rolls to stare up at the ceiling. The lingering touch of magic is slowly fading, leaving him chilled despite the warmth of the sheets and Magnus’s body besides his.

There’s no tension now in his back, but sleep is a long time coming.

 

* * *

 

  
It’s still dark when he opens his eyes again, but Magnus is, surprisingly, not beside him. He’s been sleeping like a rock these past few weeks, his body jumping at the chance to recharge now it’s back at full operating speed. Gone are the days of waking up to an empty bed, and Alec is relieved.

Now, he rubs his tired eyes and squints towards the door. There’s a light illuminating the edges - Magnus is awake.

Worried that somehow Magnus has sensed Alec’s disquiet at his new powers, Alec throws back the sheets and stumbles blearily in search of his boyfriend.

The lights are from Magnus’s office, so Alec knocks lightly on the doorframe, not wanting to startle Magnus in case he’s doing something that requires concentration.

He’s not. He’s standing quite still in the middle of the room, his cat eyes wide and unblinking as red magic swirls in lazy ribbons around him.

He looks like he’s in a trance, and that feeling of wrongness rises like a tide to crash over Alec’s sleepy mind.

“Magnus!”

Something moves behind him. Alec spins around, his heel pivoting his body in a way that puts him between Magnus and whoever is intruding on their space.

The man he sees is not one he knows, but it doesn’t take long to realize who he is.

Magnus really does have eyes like his father.

“I forgot what light sleepers you Shadowhunters are,” Asmodeus says. His voice is rich and mellifluous and it’s hard to picture such polished elegance wading through rivers of blood the way he knows Asmodeus has.

Asmodeus moves towards him, but Alec’s instincts are fine-tuned and his reflexes razor sharp. He dodges back, right into Magnus, whose power wraps around him like chains, stealing Alec’s breath with the force in which they tighten.

“Let's not complicate matters,” Asmodeus says. “I promised my son I wouldn’t kill you.”

He raises an elegant hand - so like Magnus - and touches Alec lightly between the eyes.

 

* * *

 

  
Alec wakes with a jolt, sitting upright so violently he sends pillows flying.

Magnus, who is sleeping peacefully beside him, snaps awake with equal speed.

“Alexander!”

Alec can’t explain why his heart is racing so quickly. He feels like he’s been fighting for hours, but the last thing he remembers is cuddling up with Magnus on the couch. Magnus must’ve brought him to bed.

“Sorry,” Alec gasps. “Go back to sleep.”

The sound Magnus makes is unimpressed, but he draws Alec down into the circle of his arms, holding him close, their heads on the same pillow. “Bad dreams?” he asks. He’s soft like this, unguarded and sweet. Alec nestles in closer, his head resting against Magnus’s steady heartbeat.

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

Alec isn’t really sure _what_ to talk about. He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay.”

Magnus’s hand drops down over his eyes, gently closing them. “Sleep, darling. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to comment over the last few days. 

To be honest, I was ready to reconsider and to continue telling stories in this fandom for love of the characters, but when hateful people FOLLOW me into OTHER fandoms to leave SH related hate on my work, all I can say is that even trying to join you is the biggest regret I have ever had for a fandom. Stop harassing me. Stop stalking me in other fandoms and other places online. 

Seriously, you should be ashamed.


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